The Protectorate
by RobotNinja
Summary: A secret service known only as the Cloak of Darkness has found their way to Harry, and more importantly, their Commander brings news that may be vital in defeating Voldemort, as well as some shocking information about Harry himself. HHr RL GD


Disclaimer: (I think once is enough for the whole story) I don't own Harry Potter ect.

* * *

The warm summer air hung heavy and silent over Little Whinging, especially Privet Drive. It was so quite that nearly all the way down at the park, if you listened carefully enough, you could hear Uncle Vernon's tremendous snores, and maybe even the light creaking of a chair. 

There was only one light on that evening at Privet Drive, and it stayed on long after all the other families had all gone to bed. This light happened to belong to the small, but reasonable home located at number Four, in the very same room as Harry Potter. He was perched in an old, rickety chair in front of a desk that sat squat and low beneath a dirty single window. Scattered across the desk were parchments in various stages of use, quills, both broken and ink-flecked, owl treats, a multitude of crumbs from stale toast, and a variety of magical objects. Among the clutter was a pile of messy notes compliment of the books _Two Hundred and Five Different Ways to Hex_, _So You Want To Be An Auror?_ and _Breaking And Entering: The Element of Surprise In Being Stealthy._ Nestled somewhere in the papers, a miniature Foe Glass winked cheekily up at him. As he rocked back and forth on the chair's back legs, Harry looked at the ceiling in disdain, knowing he promised to write everyone about what was happening every second of his summer.

His friends had cornered him a few short days ago at the train station, begging him to keep in touch. Ginny stood ridged, her eyes landing on anyone but Harry. She mumbled something along the lines of "See you around." before Ron locked him in a brotherly embrace. He was gently, but forcefully, pushed aside by his overzealous mother, who engulfed Harry in a death grip that was barely recognizable as a hug. Flabbergasted, he stood stiffly as she carried on in a hushed whisper: "Oh Harry, we're all so worried for you. Don't be so hard on yourself. You mustn't forget to write, you mustn't. Arthur and I will come to fetch you at the end of the month, I'm sure of it. Dumbledore had left instructions to get you no sooner; otherwise we'd have taken you now. Be careful, you heard Moody, and don't forget to write." By the time Harry absorbed all she said, she had whisked away her two children and hurried down the concrete platform, disappearing into the throng of innocent muggles.

A pang shot through Harry as he watched the Weasley's leave. He felt sorry for Ron, who never realized just how lucky he was to have his parents and siblings. He turned to his remaining friend, Hermione, who stood off to the side as she observed the hurried and awkward goodbyes unfold. A worried look etched her face into something that resembled a grimace. Dropping her cat-carrier on top of her trunk, she tentatively walked over to Harry. "Do you see your relatives?" she asked. Harry looked up, quickly scanning the platform for them. It wasn't like they were so hard to miss. "No," he replied tiredly. Harry had a very, very long day, and all he really wanted was to take a hot shower and fall asleep. He wasn't worried about his Aunt or Uncle's whereabouts. Truth be told, Harry was almost glad he wasn't being yelled at and hurried away the second he stepped off the train as he was so accustomed to from previous years.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione broke him from his train of thought as she placed her small hand on his shoulder. His head snapped to her direction, and their eyes locked. Harry couldn't help himself as his eyes flashed dangerously and looked down to where her fingers were smoothing the wrinkles out of his worn gray t-shirt. She froze, and plucked at a loose thread from his shirt before her hands fell to her side. "Sorry." She whispered, crossing her arms in front of her and looking away.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me like I'm some child, you know." Harry wasn't nearly as angry as he sounded, but the way he cradled his head in his hands and rubbed his temples he looked like he was about to have another 'Famous Potter Meltdown'.

"I know," Hermione replied, looking down at her shoes. "But I'm worried about you anyway. I always worry about you. That's what friends are for; they worry about you when there's no one else that cares." By the time she finished the sentence, her voice was hushed and tight, like she was fighting against tears. Harry cursed women for their emotional insecurities, and then himself for his own foolishness. He looked around the platform again for any sign of his relatives, especially small children and dogs running away blindly from a fixed area. "You're lonely, Harry." His breath caught in his throat and his eyes stopped scanning the station and flicked back to her. She looked up at him and bit her lip. Harry had been wrong about Hermione; she wasn't even close to tears. She looked as tired as he was though. "We all are." She thought about it for a second before continuing. "Even though you don't know it. Somehow we all know what you're going through."

"No. I don't think you do." Harry replied harshly. "You don't know what it's like to have some crazy nut-job after you for God knows what reason. You don't know what it's like to lose your parents before you even had a chance to know them! _You_ don't know what it's like to be stuck with some ruddy muggles for eleven years who make you bow down at their every beck and calling. You don't know what it's like to lose your second father before you even got a change to know him! You certainly don't know what it's like to be worried about your friends every waking second because your arch-nemesis might go and blow their houses up just for a bit of fun on a Friday night!"

Hermione glared up at Harry. "No. I don't. But I know what it's like to grow up without any friends, and I know what it's like to lose your mentor. We all loved Sirius and Dumbledore. You can't take all the blame for what happened, that's being selfish. We all had chances to change what happened but we didn't. Things ended up how they were supposed to, and you're just going to have to make the best of it. And I _do_ know what it's like to worry about your friends constantly. I worry about you most of all. And the worst part is you don't even acknowledge it. You don't even know that Ron and I care about you. We'll spend every waking second of the summer wondering if we're ever going to see you again, but you're so caught up in feeling sorry about yourself that you don't notice everyone else is hurting too. We're in a bloody War. People are going to die. People you love are going to leave you and never come back. You just have to get used to it."

She paused to catch her breath, her hand scooping under the neck of her shirt and pulling out a delicate silver locket. She fingered it thoughtfully before shaking her head. "I have to go." Turning away, Hermione gathered her belongings and piled them onto an empty trolley.

"Hermione." Harry said dumbly, looking down at his palms. She turned to look at him expectantly, her eyes questioning him. "I…"

"Yes, I know. We're all sorry. I have somewhere to be. I'll write you, I won't forget. Don't beat yourself up, it's not worth it." She stopped as she bent over to pick up Crookshanks's cage, and looked back at him as she stood up again. "There's so many other things you can spend your time doing." Her eyes searched his face as she waited for something. Harry nodded at her, and she seemed satisfied. Turning, he watched her walk down the platform towards the exit. A thought finally dawned on him; where were Hermione's parents? But before he could fully process the thought, a gruff voice attacked him from behind, causing Harry to jump. "'Ent very smart to get the Granger girl on your bad side, Potter." Harry turned to see no one behind him. He turned to the air beside him and eyed it thoughtfully before answering "Thanks, Moody."

"Constant Vigilance!" He thundered.

"Yes, well…" Harry replied weakly. Another thought entered his head before he could continue his previous thought though. "How long have you been there?" He questioned accusingly.

He could hear "Mad-eye" Moody holding in a rough laugh before he replied "Long enough, Potter. You're going to have to work on your detection skills before you want to try entering the Auror Academy. Among the other things you _obviously_ need to improve. Constant Vigilance!"

"Er, right." Harry had no idea what he was talking about. "This is a little weird, you know… talking to a wall." He said.

"Which is why I'm taking you home now." Moody replied.

"Where are my Aunt and Uncle?" Harry asked almost too hopefully.

"Home. Sleeping. Who knows? Orders are I take you home. Now hold on and I'll side-along you right there." Moody grabbed his arm rather forcefully and with a faint pop, it was almost like Harry Potter had never been at the train station at all.

Now Harry sat, eight days after his hectic arrival back into the muggle world, at his beat-up second hand desk thinking of what to write to The Order and Hermione. Mr. Weasley had sent him an urgent letter by muggle post two days after they all arrived safely home explaining that he was afraid the family was being watched by Death Eaters, and Bill and Fleur's wedding had been moved to somewhere discrete in the South of France. There had been a note hastily scribbled at the bottom from, he assumed, Mrs. Weasley that said although she wanted to hear from Harry, he shouldn't write to the family unless he could think of a less obvious way. Hedwig was far too recognizable, and the family needed to stay hidden in order for the wedding to be safely carried out. She also hinted that Harry would be rescued from "The Muggles" in a few short weeks, and Ron missed him terribly. The absent remark on how Ginny was doing left Harry wondering and feeling a little guilty for his less than stellar breakup tactic.

Even more upsetting, he hadn't heard anything from Hermione. It wasn't that uncommon not to hear much from her, as she was always absorbed in some form of self-inflicted torture of extracurricular studies during the summer, but Hermione had always made some effort to write and make sure Harry wasn't beating up on himself too badly. Harry could even wager that he wasn't likely to see or her from her again until the Weasely Wedding Extravaganza, as their departure was far from smooth. He still felt obligated to write to her even if she wasn't going to write back.

The easiest of the two to write was to Lupin, who Moody told to contact during the summer.

_ Lupin,  
My Aunt and Uncle have been far nicer than previous years. Remind me to thank Moody next time I see him. Nothing really exciting is going on here. Hedwig seems a bit angry at me for keeping her cooped up, so I think writing you will give her a chance to stretch her wings. I've been keeping myself busy with a little extra reading that Moody lent me, but don't tell Hermione, she'll be so overjoyed that I think she might explode. Can you see if you can locate some extra books for me and send them back with Hedwig?  
Thanks,  
Harry  
_  
Hermione, on the other hand, had been a little harder to write to.

_ Hermione,  
I hope you're okay. I'm sorry I've been acting like __Ron__ a prat lately. I don't mean to take it out on you, or anyone else for that matter. I hope you've been keeping yourself busy. Tonks let something slip about Venice? I've been doing a little extra __studying__ work regarding the ' you-know-what's and working on improving some skills. Don't get your hopes up for me writing out my own study schedule this up coming year though. Keep your eyes peeled for any information you can find. I'll see you at the Weasley's.  
Harry_

Satisfied; Harry folded the letters and sealed them with a small drip of wax. He looked up to his wardrobe, where Hedwig was balanced precariously on the top, her head pulled in close to her body, her eyes closed and her feathers ruffled. "Come here, girl." She opened an eye and hooted at him expectantly as she fluttered down to the desk, mussing up some of his papers in the process. Harry tied the letters onto her as she bent down and swallowed an owl treat slyly. He looked down at his faithful pet and smiled. "Now take the letter to Hermione first. Take a rest if you have to, but don't leave unless she writes back. Pester her if you have to." He grinned at the bird as she blinked in innocent understanding. "And take the other letter to Lupin. Make sure he gives you a book or two, okay girl?" She hooted and nipped his fingers lightly in affection, before spreading her wings and flying out the window in the night.

Rubbing his hands over his face and through his messy hair, Harry leaned over the desk and turned off the light, fumbling through the dark before he bumped into his bed and fell on to it, falling asleep almost as soon as he hit the bed.

.o.o.O.o.o.

Several miles away, in an undisclosed location…

The Quidditch Association of Europe was holding it's 57th annual product convention at one of the many locations of the Weatherbee and Son's hotel chain. Weatherbee and his sons pride themselves for providing both the wizarding _and_ muggle world with a safe place to stay while on vacation. This, and being located in the beautiful city of Venice, has given the hotel more than an outstanding reputation for being one of the best in the city. Its lavish foyers, vaulted ceilings, excellent service, rich rooms and exceptional cuisine somehow landed Cylus Weatherbee the unfortunate and stressful job of hosting the convention this year.

Despite his gut instinct and the rather rude meeting with the Minister of Magic, the convention was not cancelled, as many anxious fans had anticipated it would be. Rufus Scrimgeour had insisted that contrary to the evidence, the rise of You-Know-Who would not interrupt the convention, and no harm would come to his hotel.

Weatherbee had other thoughts on the matter, but went along with hosting the convention anyway. He had never seen more people flock in the numbers they had to book rooms at his hotel. Venice was never a big hit among wizards as a vacation spot to begin with, but the numbers were phenomenal. He was booked up to 95 capacity for the entire week, and 98 for the night of the convention. A smile was plastered across his face as wizards and witches from around the globe poured in from fireplaces in the room he dedicated just for magical arrival and departure. He could almost feel the money falling into his pockets.

A rough voice behind Cylus Weatherbee made him jump though. "This is a lot oft people." He turned to see international Qudditch champion Victor Krum behind him, his stocky frame almost overpowering. The smile on Cylus' face dropped to a thin line, and he nodded. "I know. Which is why I'm worried."

"Vhorried about vhat?" Krum asked, his dark eyes shadowed by his thick brow as it furrowed in confusion.

"That all this…" he waved his hands about, gesturing at all the happy wizards "Could lead to an" loweing his voice, Cylus leaned in towards Victor. "attack."

He pondered this for a minuet as he looked about the room. "Vhell. Are vhee prepared? For an… attack?"

Victor's short, choppy sentences made him seem far less frightening than Weatherbee had previously thought. Cylus turned away from him and fumbled with an expensive looking pocket watch; or, what many people _thought_ was a watch. It was host many hands, several faces and acted as a locator device as well as a high-tech three dimensional map of his entire hotel that could track any person inside it. It cost him a fortune. Looking across the hall, a team of hit-wizards decked out in gray silk suits and shiny black shoes, their hair slicked back smartly and a small walkie-talkie device planted in their ears looked over to Weatherbee before each nodding and exiting the room. "Yes. We're as prepared as we'll ever be."

"Then vhat else can vhee do, Sir?" Victor asked. His voice was firm but he seemed worried.

"Get this show on the road, Victor." He turned abruptly on his heels and strode out of the room, down the main foyer and into a small room off the hall where the security debriefing was happening. Cylus was well known across Europe for his extensive security measures. He had every wizard that signed into rooms checked and rechecked, their wand signature taken and their personal affects searched as soon as they entered the hotel. But one could never be too careful. His million-galleon tycoon was hanging by a thread at this point, and he was very scared that the team of 50 hit-wizards that Cylus had hired for the occasion would be easily overtaken if the hotel was attacked.

He stood at the back of the room that contained five bed-sized monitors that flickered and switched views of the hotel's main rooms. Rows of consuls attended to by expert muggles lined the floor in front of the monitors. The hit-wizards that were not deployed about the hotel lined the walls and stood ridged, awaiting an order. They were the best Cylus could find in all of Europe. Not surprisingly, many had not come from England, but from far in the east, where their firm rule had shaped them into exceptional and loyal fighters. Striding across the floor, barely making a sound in his lavish black silk suit, simple white shirt and aqua tie, heads turned to Weatherbee. He stopped at the stairs that lead to the command center below, where his top security official sat in an overstuffed leather office chair with wheels. The man, in his late Twenties, was dressed in the exact same suit as Cylus, expect the tie he wore was dark maroon. His first son, Leonard Weatherbee, and most trusted man employed under him, was working exceptionally fast across a series of keyboards, typing in various commands to the monitoring system.

"Everything going well, sir?" He didn't even look up from the text on the monitor that he was scripting as he spoke.

Cylus smiled. Leonard was his favorite son for a reason. He was intelligent, quick and deadly in a fight. His business techniques were persuasive and amazing, but his defense tactics were something to be reckoned with. "What are you working on?"

Leonard turned for the first time to his father and mentor and smiled. "It's rather brilliant, sir, if I do say so myself. Since we've fused the muggle security system with magic last month as an experiment, PIKQUA has been far more _responsive_ to anything I put into her. It's amazing. I hired some Gnomian engineers to install a few turrets and advanced versions of muggle defensive weapons last week. I'm just putting the final touch on them right now; I'm making them sentient. It's the best sort of defense I can think of. This way, if we get someone breaking and entering where we don't have any hit-wizards, the defense system will react accordingly and take out the wizard as well as report the break-in to you. When I'm done the hotel will be like a fortress."

Cylus nodded thoughtfully before clapping his son on the shoulder. "Excellent."

Leonard nodded and turned back to the screen before interjecting a thought. "You can go back up to the Grand Ballroom if you want. I already briefed the team and told them to take positions in five minuets. They're actually starting to creep me out, to be honest. They just sort of… stand there."

He nodded and squeezed his son's shoulders before walking back up the stairs towards the heavily armored door. Leonard turned to look back as his father walked away. "Good luck, dad." Cylus nodded and kept walking, but a smile crept up onto his face.

Down the hall, he pointed to two attendants to open the double-doors and burst into the Grand Ballroom. Surveying the scene, hundreds of witches and wizards were mobbed around the rich and famous Quiddich idols that were scattered around the floor, begging them for autographs. Vendors of every shape and size from all over the world promoting goods lined the walls and formed rows across the floor. They shouted out at the crowed about the newest set of enchanted, personalized dragon-hide flying boots to the shiny, expensive American broom manufacturers touting that their brand new Nitro 5000 could outrace any Firebolt in a competition.

Cylus mustered up any stored energy and strode confidently to the center of the room, where a small, circular platform was erected. Stepping up onto it, he pointed his wand at his throat and muttered "Sornous." He looked around the vast room before clearing his throat. "Welcome everyone, to the 57th annual Quidditch Association Convention!" his voice thundered above the loud noise in the hall, and people grew silent in anticipation of his speech. "Some of you may recognize me. For those of you who don't, my name is Cylus Weatherbee, and I'll be your host for this evening. Our lovely minister has assured me several times that we are in no danger tonight, but to quell any of your concerns that have been voiced, we are under a heavily guarded and protected defense system. It will be extremely difficult for anyone to get past this system, especially the goons currently employed under You-Know-Who. Not to say they aren't intelligent and shouldn't be feared, mind you, but you have certainly nothing to worry about during your stay here. As for the planned event tonight! We have international Quidditch stars from across the globe all in one convenient place! The one you've all been waiting for, Mister Victor Krum, will be happy to answer any of your questions as well as sign autographs over by Ratchet's Broom Emporium's vendor booth. Victor! Please raise your hand and give us a wave so everyone knows where you are!"

Cylus paused and looked over to the booth, where two very confused looking men stood behind a table showcasing two new racing brooms. They shrugged their shoulders and looked around the crowd, shaking their heads at Cylus to indicate that they had no idea where Victor was. "Well! He's probably off in the loo, no need to fret. He'll be back before you know it, folks. So let the festivities begin!"

Weatherbee poked the wand at his throat again and cancelled out the charm as he fumbled in his trouser pocket for his watch. Thumbing across the slick surface, he located the small button he was looking for and pressed it, notifying his son to keep a look out on the screens for anything suspicious.

Victor, on the other hand, was not in the loo, or anywhere close to one for that matter. He was actually seven floors up, getting on the nerves of the occupant of room 712.

"But, Her-my-oh-ninny!"

"Hermione." A muffled voice corrected him through the closed door.

"Right. Vhell, you are being ridiculous! Come down vhift me to the convention." He hammered a meaty fist on the door and pressed his ear against waiting for a response. He was quickly losing his patience.

The door swung inward quickly and Victor stumbled to regain his balance. Hermione Granger stood between him and the lavish room she had booked looking very stern. "I don't think so. I came here to work on something for Harry. Not for your silly little game convention. I hardly think it's worth my time. It's rather just a coincidence that I'm here at the same time as you. I don't follow anything that has to do with Quidditch, you know that. I wouldn't plan something in hopes of meeting you here. You know what I told you last summer, my opinion on the matter hasn't changed. I have to read through these books and take notes. I promised Harry I'd help." Hermione backed up to close the door only to have Victor grab it and hold it forcefully open.

"I vant a chance!" He pleaded with her.

"For what?" She asked bemused, clearly she was growing frustrated at his childish antics.

"I love you, Her-my-oh-ninny."

She paused, her breath caught in her chest. No boy, not to mention a rather famous and handsome one, had ever said that to ugly, boring, bookish Hermione. She shook her head and unlatched Victor's hand from the door. "No, really I don't think you do."

"But I do!" Victor looked rather sincere, and he shot her a sad look, but Hermione wasn't buying it.

"You can't even say my name right." She pointed out. "And—" But her thought was cut off as a faint clang of the ventilation grate from the ceiling falling to the floor. Shortly after a familiar cry of pain and several thumps, which Hermione assumed were under trained lackeys, echoed down the quite hall. "Oh, bloody hell. I knew I should have checked out this morning." Hermione reached out and grabbed the front of Victor's robes, roughly pulling him inside her room before closing and locking the door.

"Oh, this is not very good at all." Victor whispered worriedly at her.

"You dolt, listen to me." Hermione quickly ran over to her bed and began shrinking her notes and books, stuffing them into a small leather backpack. "If I'm right, Voldemort sent a few of his people here tonight to set up God-knows-what in order to terrorize the wizarding world on a whole. It'll have the same effect as the Quditch championship two years ago, right?" She stopped what she was doing and looked over at Victor, who was listening intently, much to her surprise. He nodded at her to continue and she turned back to packing her belongings away. "So we're going to get out of here before something bad happens."

"Vhat?"

Hermione stopped and shook her head. In a worst-case scenario, the whole hotel was going down in flames. In a best, the Death Eaters would be taken out and dealt with. But it sounded like Voldemort sent Wormtail to lead his brigade, so hopefully the outcome wouldn't be that bad. Either way, Hermione had come across some very useful information thanks to the public wizarding library in Venice that would be crucial in the search for horcruxes. She rubbed her face in frustration and turned back to Victor, who looked up to playing the role of hero. "Alright. This is what we do. You go tell whoever's in charge to get some security on these guys and I'll disapparate out of here and meet you in front of the library."

"That von't vork, Her-my-oh-ninny."

"It's Hermione, for Christsakes!" she turned back to her hurried packing, shrinking and throwing what few cloths she had into the backpack. "What?" Hermione stopped her hurried packing and looked at Victor, who was still standing in front of the door. He hadn't moved an inch since she pulled him inside.

"It von't vork. Weatherbee charmed it so you can't apparate in zhee hotel or out oft here. He's a vhery smart man, you know." Victor nodded thoughtfully, and opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say was cut off abruptly from a faint ringing coming from his pocket. Victor pulled out a small, strange looking metal device and fiddling around with what looked like a keypad, before tucking it back away. Down the hall they could hear screaming. He grimaced and looked to Hermione.

She shuddered. "Well. We're getting out of here either way before they blow the place up. What's the plan?"

Victor strode across the floor, picking up a blank piece of parchment, tapping it with his wand and muttering a spell. An interactive map of the hotel began to etch itself onto the paper, the lines twisting and intersecting, an ornate key forming in the corner that allowed you to pick different levels and what to display. He smiled smugly at the shocked look on Hermione's face.

"Where'd you learn this?"

"Vhell, lets say that Quidditch is a nice sport, and not a very good job." He smiled and leaned over the map and began routing their exit based on the location of the Death Eaters' little red dots on the map. Apparently something had malfunctioned in Leonard's system, or the Death Eaters were far more intelligent than everyone thought, and found a way around the system. Within in a few seconds he had charted out the perfect escape route via the service staircase and exit, and grabbed Hermione's arm to get her attention. "This is going to be vhery hard. You cannot fall behind. You must listen to vhatever I tell you to do, do you understand? You are very important."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's happening."

Krum paused and ran his hands through his hair, before pulling aside his cloak and checked two long leather pouches, which Hermione assumed were wand holsters, until he removed two lethal looking knives. "I cannot say, really. But vhee vork for the same side, no? Everyone against evil is on the same side. Only my part of the side is…" he searched for the word "A little more secret, and a little more dangerous." He nodded at Hermione's confused looks. "Hit-wizards, are, how you say? Dangerous. Not very lethal though. I vork for The Cloak of Darkness, they do a bit more… damage."

Hermione could hardly contain herself. "You work for _them!_ That's ridiculous. They're one of the most prestigious teams that fight against the dark side. You can't, there's no way… You're just Victor."

Victor paused to think, before responding, "Vell, yes. But Harry is just Harry, is he not?"

Hermione nodded numbly before looking to the door. There was no time for childish banter. "Let's get out of here. We have to tell your friend, what's his name? Weatherbee."

"I've already notified him and his son. My main job is to get you to safety. Since vhee cannot disapparate, vhee have to run. Do you have all your things?" She nodded at him. She was as ready as she would ever be. "Then let's go. Quickly and quietly. Don't do any spells in the hall, the security system vhill think you are a threat." Victor took the two knives in hand before opening the door a crack and slipping out into the hall. He turned and motioned to Hermione to step outside. She heard another scream down the hall to the right and Victor cursed under his breath before nodding in the direction of the staircase and darting along the wall in a speed that surprised Hermione. She knew he was fast on a broom, but never imagined he'd be this quick on his feet.

Hermione caught up with Victor as he was running down the flights of stairs, his head flicking around quickly to catch anyone that may be sneaking up on them. "Victor," Hermione hissed from behind him. "Isn't this weird? I mean, you and me in the same hotel the second week of summer break? And even weirder that the hotel I happen to be staying in is hosting your event, and it's under Death Eater attack? The coincidences are far too much for me to handle."

Victor turned back to her in a hushed voice "That," he said "Is because they are not coincidences."

"I don't understand." Hermione was grasping on threads at this point.

"You vill. Eventually. Vee have to get you to safety now, though."

"Oh," Hermione felt faint, "My parents. They're out at dinner now." Someone has to warn them. Someone has to tell them, Victor."

"They are already at home, in England, Her-my-oh-ninny."

"What?"

"Be quiet, and they vill explain later." Hermione shut her mouth abruptly and followed closely behind Victor. She was a very intelligent girl, it was something she always prided herself in, but this was something she could not make heads or tales of just yet.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To England. Italy is not safe for you."

"Are you taking me?" she asked, nearly out of breath from all the running they were doing.

"No. They vill take you somewhere safe. Come now." Victor turned to grab her arm and pulled her down the stairs three at a time, screams and bangs could be heard several floors above them as the chaos unfolded.

.o.o.O.o.o.

Back in Little Whinging, Harry Potter awoke with a start. His scar was burning so badly that he felt rather delirious, and the tremors from Lord Voldemort's joyous laughter still wracked his body. Somewhere, something terrible had happened, and Harry was almost positive it had to do with him.

"Good evening, Mister Potter." A soft voice spoke out from the darkened corner of his room. Harry hurried to find his wand, and jabbed it in the general direction of the voice.

"No need for violence. I hope you find everything in order. I come in peace… and with a proposition for you."

Harry cleared his throat, fighting down the panic in his voice. "What do you want?"

The figure emerged engulfed in some sort of darkness. He looked almost made of shadows. Rubbing his eyes, Harry could barely make out the blurry shape of a man. Somehow, he realized, his glasses had fallen off in the middle of the night. "You see, we are both at a loss tonight, are we not? Mine: financial gains. Yours, if you are not lucky: someone you care for very dearly." The man leaned against Harry's desk as Harry searched around blindly for his glasses. "And I like to gamble, so I have come here in hopes for saving the wizarding world and my fortune."

"Who are you? What do you want?" Harry could still not find his glasses.

"Ah, I knew you'd ask that." The man paused to clear his throat, and retrieved something from his pocket. Leaning over, he picked up something and handed Harry his glasses, which had been on the floor. Putting them on a man came into view, a rather tall and important looking man in a black suit, though it was dark and it could have been any other color. Harry couldn't tell. The man looked at the device he pulled from his pocket and grimaced before looking up at Harry expectantly. "They should be here any minuet to help me explain everything to you." He tucked away the device and peered keenly at Harry. "Some call me Commander, everyone else calls me Sir. My sons call me daddy. My equals call me Cylus. And I have something I want you do that will be vital in your quest. Both the wizarding world and ours are in grave danger, and you're the only one that can save us all."


End file.
